house. Despite her notoriously black thumb, she envisioned a few flower beds, maybe a couple of citrus trees.
Which reminded her to make arrangements to get feed and hay for the horses. Armed with a phone book, Sami made her calls, noted directions, and shouted down the hall to Steve, “I’m leaving. You coming?”
“No,” he yelled back. “I want to finish setting up my office.”
She shook her head in disgust and grabbed her purse, keys, and list. At the gatehouse she stopped and talked briefly with the ranger on duty, not the same one who greeted them the evening before. The gatehouse held their mailbox along with eight others belonging to rangers and volunteers living in the park near the campground.
Thirty minutes later, she shopped for furniture in Brooksville. “It’s your lucky day,” she told the salesman. “Follow me.”
She pointed out what she wanted, told him it had to be delivered by the next day even if it meant getting the display models, and didn’t blink at the total. She produced her platinum AmEx, enjoying his astonished look when he read the name and finally made the connection.
Nothing like a little retail therapy on your husband’s dime to improve a girl’s mood.
They arranged delivery for the next morning.
From there to the bank. Next, the feed store, where she arranged to have a large round hay bale delivered. Last, the Winn-Dixie near the park and home again. She forced Steve out of his study to help her unload. By God he’d help, like it or not. While she had his captive attention, she filled him in on the day’s details.
“The furniture will arrive tomorrow morning. Until we decide for sure if we’re buying the place, we should keep the old furniture in case the owner wants it. There’s probably enough room in the basement for the old stuff, but I’ll need your help.”
With the groceries unloaded and covering the table and kitchen counters, Steve’s attention wandered. “Okay. I’ve got to get back to work. When you really need me, let me know.”
Sami stifled an outraged scream and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading back to his study. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best.”
“The best what, doormat?” she muttered at his retreating back.
* * * *
With the groceries put away, Sami made herself a sandwich. Disgusted with Steve’s lack of help, Sami didn’t ask if he was hungry.
If he wants lunch, he can damn well make it himself.
She opened the basement door. She found a single light switch just to the left of the door. When she flicked it, a single bare bulb struggled to illuminate the stairs. A brand-new washer and dryer, a utility mop sink, and a fairly new electric water heater filled one corner. They had to get down there somehow—the stairs couldn’t be as rickety as they looked to support that kind of weight.
She tentatively stepped down, holding on to the railing, and to her immense relief found it much sturdier than it looked. Flicking another light switch at the bottom brought two sets of four-banger fluorescents to life, illuminating the half of the basement near the washer and dryer.
It felt cooler down here, due to the insulating effect of the ground. The basement windows were filthy, and she mentally added that to her rapidly growing list. It appeared she’d have very little time for her own writing over the next couple of weeks.
A sudden chill swept through her. She turned, taking in the entire basement. An old pine plank bookcase lined the far wall, filled with a variety of books. She walked over, rubbing her hands over her arms to smooth the creeping gooseflesh, and noticed this side of the room seemed cloaked in shadows, as if light retreated from the bookcase.
She strained to read many of the spines, an eclectic mixture from the occult to Bibles, old reading primers, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books.
She realized despite the thick cobwebs lining the ceiling,
Which reminded her to make arrangements to get feed and hay for the horses. Armed with a phone book, Sami made her calls, noted directions, and shouted down the hall to Steve, “I’m leaving. You coming?”
“No,” he yelled back. “I want to finish setting up my office.”
She shook her head in disgust and grabbed her purse, keys, and list. At the gatehouse she stopped and talked briefly with the ranger on duty, not the same one who greeted them the evening before. The gatehouse held their mailbox along with eight others belonging to rangers and volunteers living in the park near the campground.
Thirty minutes later, she shopped for furniture in Brooksville. “It’s your lucky day,” she told the salesman. “Follow me.”
She pointed out what she wanted, told him it had to be delivered by the next day even if it meant getting the display models, and didn’t blink at the total. She produced her platinum AmEx, enjoying his astonished look when he read the name and finally made the connection.
Nothing like a little retail therapy on your husband’s dime to improve a girl’s mood.
They arranged delivery for the next morning.
From there to the bank. Next, the feed store, where she arranged to have a large round hay bale delivered. Last, the Winn-Dixie near the park and home again. She forced Steve out of his study to help her unload. By God he’d help, like it or not. While she had his captive attention, she filled him in on the day’s details.
“The furniture will arrive tomorrow morning. Until we decide for sure if we’re buying the place, we should keep the old furniture in case the owner wants it. There’s probably enough room in the basement for the old stuff, but I’ll need your help.”
With the groceries unloaded and covering the table and kitchen counters, Steve’s attention wandered. “Okay. I’ve got to get back to work. When you really need me, let me know.”
Sami stifled an outraged scream and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll do that.”
He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek before heading back to his study. “Thanks, hon. You’re the best.”
“The best what, doormat?” she muttered at his retreating back.
* * * *
With the groceries put away, Sami made herself a sandwich. Disgusted with Steve’s lack of help, Sami didn’t ask if he was hungry.
If he wants lunch, he can damn well make it himself.
She opened the basement door. She found a single light switch just to the left of the door. When she flicked it, a single bare bulb struggled to illuminate the stairs. A brand-new washer and dryer, a utility mop sink, and a fairly new electric water heater filled one corner. They had to get down there somehow—the stairs couldn’t be as rickety as they looked to support that kind of weight.
She tentatively stepped down, holding on to the railing, and to her immense relief found it much sturdier than it looked. Flicking another light switch at the bottom brought two sets of four-banger fluorescents to life, illuminating the half of the basement near the washer and dryer.
It felt cooler down here, due to the insulating effect of the ground. The basement windows were filthy, and she mentally added that to her rapidly growing list. It appeared she’d have very little time for her own writing over the next couple of weeks.
A sudden chill swept through her. She turned, taking in the entire basement. An old pine plank bookcase lined the far wall, filled with a variety of books. She walked over, rubbing her hands over her arms to smooth the creeping gooseflesh, and noticed this side of the room seemed cloaked in shadows, as if light retreated from the bookcase.
She strained to read many of the spines, an eclectic mixture from the occult to Bibles, old reading primers, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books.
She realized despite the thick cobwebs lining the ceiling,
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